


Considered

by janescott



Category: One Direction
Genre: Dub-con elements, M/M, Pining, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was this: 'Canon' fic where 1D is still a band but Zayn gets turned into a werewolf/vampire. I went with vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Considered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vodka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodka/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta as always.
> 
> The dub-con tag is there because when Zayn is turned, he's not coherent enough to give consent. I hope this is okay - it's a pinch-hit that I wrote on the fly. I had fun doing it though!

It’s the eyes. Green eyes like opaque glass that lead Zayn astray. He’s been steadily and stubbornly closing himself off in his room or on the bus since his last Skype call with Perrie that had ended - well, it had ended everything.

And then of course there was - well, there was Harry and he’d royally fucked up there.

He has no choice but to battle on; they’re in the middle of tour, and he can’t do anything except perform his best, and then try and disappear when they’re not on stage or doing interviews.

At least that’s the plan, until Louis shows up at his hotel room door one night in Prague and won’t stop _knocking_.

Zayn knows from long and vast experience that Louis won’t be put off, no matter how many times Zayn tells him to fuck off, so he just grumbles to himself and opens the door.

“Get dressed,” Louis says with no preamble. “We’re going out.”

Zayn stares at Louis for a long moment, weighing up his argument for staying in, ordering room service and sulking. Louis raises an eyebrow, pushes past him and starts rifling through his suitcase.

“Louis …”

“No. Nope. I don’t want to hear it. I get that you’re - but c’mon. You can’t hide from everyone forever.”

Zayn sighs and puffs out a heavy breath of air.

“It’ll just be you, me and Niall.”

Zayn closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m pathetic,” he says, staring up at the ornately carved ceiling. “Can’t keep my girl, can’t stop pining over - “

He’s hit in the face with a shirt and jeans, breaking him out of his spiral.

“Come on. We don’t have a show tomorrow, no interviews, we can get absolutely plastered. It’ll be fun.”

Zayn’s still not convinced, but he gets dressed, messes about with his hair and tries out a smile, which clearly doesn’t have the right effect because Louis gathers him into a tight hug.

Well. 

The club is on the top floor of an old-looking stone apartment building. Zayn shivers when he sees it, something prickling at the back of his neck, but he lets himself be pulled inside anyway; trusting his boys to not let anything happen to him.

An hour later, Zayn is drunk, too hot, and crowded against a wall down a narrow hallway. The man - Alexej, he had said his name was, murmuring right against the shell of Zayn’s ear when he had gone up to the bar- is looking down at him now, and Zayn can’t stop staring at his eyes.

Green, green eyes, he thinks, his mind going fuzzy as he reaches a hand out to touch the small fan of lines around Alexej’s eyes. “Green,” he says, very seriously. “Your eyes are green like - “ he frowns at that and drops his hand, his mouth turning down.

He jumps when he feels Alexej’s thumb trace over the pout of his bottom lip. “You like green eyes?” His voice is soft and his accent is thick and heavy, but Zayn can understand every word, each one burning on to his brain before flickering out.

“I - yes, I mean, yes. They’re - they’re my favourite, my - I mean, Harry, he’s not mine, he’s - he’s got green eyes.” Zayn frowns and blinks slowly as Alexej drops his thumb, leaving a long shiver in his wake.

“I’m sorry, I’m - I’m drunk? I should - get back to my friends, I think.”

“Mmmmn. Or … you could tell your friends that you don’t feel well, and you have gone back to your hotel room.”

“And then - and then what?”

“And then - “ Alexej pauses, before putting his mouth right against Zayn’s ear again. “And then you could come with me, and perhaps I could make you forget this boy who makes you look so sad.”

Zayn bites his lip and lets out a shaky laugh. He’s not given to impulsive decisions and behaviours - not usually - but then, what has being careful and considered got him really? A broken engagement and weary pining over his bandmate.

He really is pathetic.

And so - 

“All right,” is what he says to Alexej instead of “No thanks mate.”

And that’s how he ends up being pinned down on Alexej’s bed, sometime after 3am, while Alexej bites his neck and Zayn _feels_ it everywhere - in his bones and in his nerve-endings - the moment that Alexej breaks the skin and starts drinking, the only sound in the room Zayn’s soft moans.

He tries, he thinks, he tries to say _no_ but his tongue feels swollen and thick and he can’t _move_. He can’t go anywhere, and he thinks, _I’m going to die_ before the world around him fades to grey and then black.

“Zayn. Zayn you must wake up. You have to drink if you do not wish to die.”

Zayn can’t make sense of the words, he turns his head into the pillow and mutters, “Piss off Liam, it’s the middle of the night.”

“ _Zayn_.” A harder shake this time and Zayn comes fully awake, last night crashing into his head like a tidal wave. He blinks his eyes open and frowns at Alexej. “What the fuck,” he says, staring at Alexej’s wrist which is right in front of his face. There’s a beading line of blood along one of the veins and suddenly Zayn is so _thirsty_.

“Drink,” Alexej says, his voice low but hard as steel. “If you do not wish to die, you need to drink.”

Zayn wants to sit up, he has about a million questions, but he feels weak and like he’s … fading somehow and god, why does that blood smell so good?

A bead tracks down Alexej’s arm and Zayn sticks his tongue out without thinking, making a small, wounded noise in the back of his throat as it hits. It’s overwhelming, and all he can think is _more_ as Alexej presses forward and Zayn groans as he feels his strength coming back with the intake of Alexej’s blood. 

He inhales deeply and doesn’t question it when his teeth breach Alexej’s skin, his incisors sharp points. Alexej has to pull him off eventually, and Zayn licks around his lip and his teeth, chasing the taste.

He blinks again, before his eyes widen in horror.

“What, what have you done to me?”

Zayn feels the world greying out around him again and struggles not to go under, but it’s too much, and he passes out.

“Harry. Harry, stop - could you stop pacing? I’m getting dizzy.” 

Harry whirls on his heels and gives Liam his best glare. “Oh, I’m sorry, Liam. Is my worrying about Zayn not being back even though he told Louis and Niall he would be back, IS IT BOTHERING YOU?”

Liam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Harry, I’m worried too, we all are but I’m sure - “

Liam’s cut of by a knock at the hotel room door and he goes to let Paul in, who has a phone to his ear, nodding along with whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“We’ve found him,” Paul says without preamble. “He’s in hospital. Come on.”

The four boys scramble over themselves to get out of the room and through crowds to a van that’s waiting outside the hotel.

Paul’s still on the phone and they all look at each other, unanswered questions heavy in the air.

Paul finally hangs up and turns around from the front passenger seat, regarding them all quietly.

Harry winds his fingers together and bites his lip, this is all his fault …

“He’s fine,” Paul says. “He was dropped off unconscious outside A&E. They couldn’t find his contact details at first, but luckily his in case of emergency card was in his wallet and they called me. I don’t know much beyond that he’s fine, but they want to keep him in for another 24 hours.”

 

Harry sags against Niall in relief and is distantly surprised to find that there’s tears prickling at his eyes. “It’s - this is all my fault. I’m - I’m sorry - “

Niall winds his arm around Harry’s waist and draws him in close, absently rubbing at Harry’s back. Louis and Liam turn around from their seats and Harry can’t stand it, he can’t stand their regard. He closes his eyes and tucks himself as close to Niall as he can.

“Harry …. this is not your fault, yeah? You didn’t know this would happen - you couldn’t know. Let’s just …. get there, and find out what’s going on, and then you can go from there okay?”

Harry takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, meeting Louis’s calm blue gaze. 

“I shouldn’t have freaked out on him like that, though. I thought, I thought that I was just, just some - rebound thing because it happened right after Perrie, and I don’t - “

“Hey, Harry - Harry, breathe, okay? Whatever’s happened - it’s not your fault. Zayn’s fine, and you’ll be able to talk to him and sort your shit out once and for all.”

Harry finds a small, wan smile somewhere, then sticks his tongue out at Louis because he can.

Zayn is in a small room of his own, tucked away in the medical ward of a large hospital.

Paul and their Czech interpreter talk to the doctor while the boys gather in the waiting room. Harry takes to pacing again, while Liam fetches tea from the vending machine and Louis and Niall do a “who should you date?” quiz in an old English Cosmo they find on the waiting room table.

“Okay,” Paul says finally, coming back over to the boys. “The doc says that you can go in and see him, but before you do - you need to know - “ Paul stops and takes a breath, glancing away before turning back.

“You need to know - he’s been Turned.”

Four pairs of eyes stare at him in shock and Harry can hear a noise coming from somewhere far away - or at least, he thinks it’s far away until he feels Liam’s hand curling around his bicep and that - that hurt noise - is coming from his own throat.

He takes in a breath, jagged and wounded, and another one and it’s clearer. He nods and says, “I’m all right, I’m okay. Are they - “

“They’re sure,” Paul says gently. “Apparently it’s fairly common here - there’s an enclave not far from the centre of the city.”

“But - other than that, he’s okay? He’s all right?”

Paul nods at Louis and even manages a small smile. “Yes. Apart from being Turned, he’s fine. The doctor wants to keep him in another night, to make sure the implant takes, and then he’ll be back in time for us to get on the road tomorrow.”

Zayn is pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed and somehow that’s the worst of it - usually his skin is a sharp contrast to pale colours, he stands out, but now …. apart from his shock of black hair and his eyes, he’s almost the same colour as the sheets.

Harry lingers in the doorway, biting his lip. He feels … shy, he realises, something that he’s almost never experienced. He watches as Liam and Louis drag chairs to either side of the bed and Niall just climbs up on it, working his way up until he’s wound around Zayn in a careful hug.

Harry gives himself a shake and walks to the end of the bed. He can see the implant on the side of Zayn’s neck - it’s slightly darker than his skin at the moment, but Harry knows that soon it will blend in and be invisible. It will release everything Zayn needs to live and work in the world - sunscreens and iron mostly, but he’ll still need …. he’ll still need blood.

Niall’s voice jolts Harry out of his reverie. “Mate - what the hell happened? We thought you went back to the hotel!”

Zayn’s jaw clenches and releases, and Harry knows that he doesn’t want to get into it now; doesn’t want to talk about it, but he also knows how persistent Niall can be. Liam and Louis are quiet but Harry notices that they’re both holding one of Zayn’s hands. 

He feels out of place, oddly. .Like he’s the one who shouldn’t be here. He’s _responsible_ for this - if, if Zayn hadn’t kissed him in fucking _Paris_ of all places, if Harry hadn’t actively started avoiding him, not knowing what to do with the tangle of sudden feelings in the back of his throat, if … if, if, if …

“Leave him be, Niall. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

“But - “

“Let it go, yeah?”

Niall sighs but subsides easily enough, curing back into Zayn’s side.

“So uh - uhm, Paul said that - that you’d be in another night,” Liam says, while Harry curls his fingers over the steel bars at the base of the bed. He can do this. He can. He can be here for Zayn. He _should_ be here for Zayn. He takes a deep breath and looks up, straight into Zayn’s steady, shadowed gaze.

“Yeah, that’s what they told me. Want to make sure the implant takes and all that.”

He shifts on the bed and rolls his eyes as Liam lets go of his hand and pokes at Niall. “C’mon, Niall. Don’t crowd him, yeah?”

Niall grumbles but climbs off, leaning against Liam’s shoulder.

“Um … could I … speak to Harry alone for a bit?”

Zayn looks at Louis then, biting his lip and Louis just nods, tilting his head towards the door. “Sure. We’ll… go find something to eat. You want anything Haz?”

Harry can’t speak, suddenly there’s a lump in his throat and all he can do is shake his head. 

He goes to sit by Zayn in the chair that Louis has just left and does his best to find a smile.

Zayn raises his eyebrows at that and lets out a small laugh. “I don’t look that bad do I? You look like you’re about to tell me you ran over my dog or something.”

Harry clears his throat and bites his lip, fidgeting in his seat and running his hand through his hair, tugging at an errant curl. 

“No, I just - I’m …. glad that you’re … “

“Well, for value of ‘okay’, I’m not technically dead, so there’s that.”

Harry sags then, his whole body folding until his head is resting on the edge of Zayn’s bed. He mutters something into the covers and Zayn frowns. His hand twitches and he wants to reach out; to push a hand through the riot of Harry’s curls, but he’s - he doesn’t know what the boundaries are now.

“Haz - what was that? I couldn’t understand you …”

Harry turns his head and Zayn’s heart aches at the sight of the red rims and the faint purple shadows under his eyes.

“I said… this is all my fault.”

“Ah, babe … no. No - don’t think that.” Zayn pushes Harry’s thick hair back from his face, so he can see Harry’s expression and Harry makes a small, pleased noise, butting his head into Zayn’s hand like a cat.

Zayn shakes his head and sighs, but keeps running his hand through Harry’s hair, tugging lightly on the long strands.

“Should’ve been a cat, you.”

Harry laughs a little, but it chokes off into a sob and he can hear Zayn saying, “Hey, no Harry it’s okay come on ..” but Harry can’t stop himself yet; he has to take a deep breath and make a conscious effort to get himself under control.

He can see Zayn’s fangs now, he realises, and stares at fascination when they pierce Zayn’s bottom lip, a bead of blood welling up.

“Ah, fuck. Not used to them yet.”

He licks absently at the blood and gives Harry a small, almost shy smile.

“This isn’t your fault, Harry, yeah? I’m the one who fucked up, not you. I should’ve …. I should’ve waited, or like, talked to you first instead of just - keeping it all in my head till I couldn’t any more. I’m … sorry I kissed you.”

Harry gives him a long, considering look. He knows Zayn inside and out by now, he thinks - well, apart from the small, tiny, negligible detail that apparently Zayn has been in love with him for the past four years - but that aside …

“Are you? Sorry, I mean.” Absently Harry realises that at some point he’s taken hold of Zayn’s hand, their fingers wound together. Harry’s momentarily fascinated by the fact that Zayn’s hands are paler than his and that’s odd and wrong, though Harry supposes it’s temporary.

Zayn sighs and turns to look out the window. He goes to bite his lip, then curses softly when he realises he’ll just hurt himself again. He looks back at Harry who’s just waiting for him to speak. Harry’s expression is open and soft, although there’s a worry line between his eyebrows and he’s rubbing his thumb over Zayn’s knuckles.

Zayn realises, absently, that he can’t feel his heart - of course he can’t - but it’s like he can feel the echo of it racing in his chest as he prepares for Harry’s inevitable rejection.

“I’m sorry … I kissed you when I did. I wish that I had - waited. Waited until, like, maybe you wouldn’t think it was some kind of rebound thing. It was never that, Harry. Not - not you. I - I’ve been in love with you for so long that - it felt….. right? I don’t know. It’s all tangled up in my head now.”

Harry nods and raises their joined hands, kissing the knuckle. “Okay.”

Neither of them say anything for a while, Zayn lying back and closing his eyes, his hand still held tight in Harry’s. He can hear Harry breathing, he realises and lets himself follow the soft in-out rhythm of it. He can also sense Harry’s blood, rich and thick, moving through his veins. Can feel the pump-pump-pump of Harry’s heartbeat. 

He’s going to be hungry soon, he knows; can already feel the desperate need pushing at him from the inside out, and Harry being so close … he sighs in relief when a nurse appears with a bag full of blood that she efficiently hooks up to an IV, setting it going through his veins.

She smiles and pats his leg before leaving, and he near groans in relief as the blood starts to course through his body, filling him up and assuaging his hunger.

He looks down when he feels Harry’s eyes on him and tries to smile. Harry just lifts their hands again, pressing the back of Zayn’s hand to his mouth. He makes a pleased-sounding noise and Zayn says “What? What is it?”

“Your skin,” Harry says, sounding happier than Zayn’s heard him sound in a long time. “It’s coming back to your normal colour. You - didn’t look like yourself, all pale like that.”

“Harry …”

“No, I know. We can’t leave it - there. Just. I need to sort out my thoughts first. Give me - a minute?”

“Okay,” Zayn says, quietly relieved that Harry apparently doesn’t plan to take off on him again.

Harry gives his hand a squeeze and pushes up suddenly, kissing Zayn unexpectedly on the cheek. Harry smells so _good_ , Zayn thinks - like his stupid organic apple shampoo that he takes everywhere, and like the gum he’s forever chewing; apples and mint and just - himself.

With everything else that’s happened in the past day or so, it’s reassuring. Grounding to know that some things truly never change.

Harry sits down in the chair again, a small frown coming and going before his expression clears. 

He bites his lip and sighs, running his free hand through his hair, before meeting Zayn’s eyes. 

His gaze is steady, and that’s reassuring too; that Harry is still grounding for him, still a fixed point for Zayn to reach out for when he needs it.

“I’m … I know … I know how you feel about me, yeah? I mean, I didn’t, somehow, even though we know every other thing about each other, and I don’t know how I missed it but I’m sorry I did Zayn, if I ever hurt you unintentionally, I never meant to.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to raise Harry’s hand, to kiss the back of it, to smile. It’s so very Harry to apologise for something that he had no control over, had no idea of, even. “S’alright, Harry. I didn’t … I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to … feel sorry for me.”

He says the last quietly, almost to himself but feels the puff of warm air as Harry sighs against their joined hands.

“I’m not … where you are, you know? I mean - I don’t mean you being Turned and suddenly like, needing to add blood to our rider, but I mean - uh, feelings-wise. I’m not saying - shit I’m bad at this - I’m not saying it couldn’t happen, I’m just - I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I get that, Harry, I do. I’ve had four years of this and you’ve only known for a few weeks and with everything, and especially now …. I wouldn’t blame you if - if you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

Harry shakes his head emphatically, his hair a wild cloud for a moment before it settles around his face, and it’s getting really long, Zayn thinks, abstract.

“God, I”m rubbish at this. That’s not what I meant, Zayn. I mean - I’m not in the same place you are now, but … I’m saying .. I’d like to have the chance to find out if I could be.”

Zayn looks at him for a long, long minute, frowning. He licks his bottom lip - can still taste the small bead of blood there from piercing his lip - and settles back against the pillows of the bed.

“You mean like …. what? Dating? Going out for dinner and all that kind of thing? Us?”

Harry snorts a laugh at that and soon Zayn finds himself laughing too, the notion of taking Harry - _Harry_ who he knows and loves like his own skin out on dates some how the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“Scuse you, but I’m a lady, and I expected to be treated like one!”

Harry’s faux-indignation - his raised eyebrows, his delicious, pink mouth framed in a pout - sends Zayn off in a fresh wave of laughter until he’s snorting and has to wipe his eyes. Everything fades when he sees the faint tracks of red on the back of his hand. Jesus Christ he thinks, I’m crying _blood_. He holds his hand up wordlessly to Harry, who’s laughter fades just as fast.

“I - Harry, I can’t - I can’t ask you to do this - not now. How can I? What if - what if I turn on you? What if I attack you? What if - “

Harry surges forward then, pressing his lips to the corner of Zayn’s mouth, which has the intended effect of shutting Zayn up.

“Shut up,” Harry says, his lips moving against Zayn’s mouth and god, it’s so enticing, so intoxicating, all Zayn would have to do is turn his head … 

“Zayn, Zayn look at me. Please.”

Zayn turns his head, his eyes meeting Harry’s, so close to him now, and he’s just fed, but god, Harry’s _so close_ and he smells so good …

“Harry …”

“You’re not - you’re not asking me to do anything all right? I want - I want to. I want to - give it a go. With you. I don’t care about the - whole - well -”

Zayn grins then, feeling slightly giddy.

“Say it,” he says, unable to keep his streak of mischief under wraps, even in this weighted, long moment.

“Say it out loud …”

Harry stares at him, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Are you quoting _Twilight_ right now???? You - “

Zayn grins and then realises - this is it. It’s now, or it’s never. He surges forward, tangling his hand in Harry’s hair as he pulls him down and kisses him. It’s kind of clumsy at first and Harry just freezes for a second, before he starts kissing Zayn back, and the angle is all wrong, with Harry kind of leaning over the bed while Zayn is reaching up, but they find a rhythm easily enough and soon Harry is sitting on the bed, his own hands tangled in Zayn’s hair and god it feels so - 

“I take it you two have sorted yourselves out then?”

Louis’s voice - dry and sarcastic - has the same effect as a bucket of ice cold water. Harry and Zayn jump apart, and Harry can’t stop staring at Zayn’s mouth - it’s red and a little swollen and - Harry reaches out, even as the other boys come to crowd around Zayn’s bed again - he traces the line of a bead of blood that’s tracing down Zayn’s chin.

Harry tracks it with his thumb, catching it on the pad, and stares at it for a moment, before wordlessly offering it to Zayn, who licks at it, hearing Harry’s shuddering sigh.

“All right, god, get a _room_.”

Harry’s laugh is shaky and the moment is broken but he looks at Zayn, who’s looking back at him and there’s so much love and warmth in his eyes that - 

Harry’s not where Zayn is yet, he know’s he’s not. He also knows that - he will be, soon.

“Yeah,” he says, answering Louis’s first question and shamelessly resettling himself on Zayn’s bed so he can wrap himself around him.

“We’re sorted.”


End file.
